


The prisoner

by Cirilla9



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chains, Humiliation, I'm sorry Heahmund, M/M, Missing Scene, Misuse of Crucifix, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, S05E05, Sacrilege, Spoils of War, Vikings, what do you mean this is not what happened then, you don't deserve this you bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 22:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13110195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: The development of the scene that should be not cut in the middle. Ivar and Hvitserk have some fun with their captured bishop.





	The prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> I hold this is exactly what happened then. How else can you explain the sudden warming of feelings between the brothers if not with the agreeing sex?
> 
> Also, they put him in the collar later. And took him with them as Ragnar did with Athelstan once. And we all know how it ended ;)

The prisoner, still dirtied by blood from the battle he was in, with bruises starting to appear on his pale skin, laid stretched on the floor, irons around his wrists. His hands were pulled above his head and attached with a chain to one of the church columns.

  
He watched apprehensively the heathen figure standing nearby, immobile as a statue, staring straight ahead, with the hatchet tucked behind his belt. He knew him, the boy was one of Ragnar’s sons, the one who came to them with his brother to negotiate. Now the Viking didn’t seem in any immediate notion to attack him but Heahmund preferred to watch his enemies closely, to foresee their plans, to always be ready for their action. So he watched the youth warily instead of focusing onto the cross laid casually on the floor next to him. Having the sacred figure of a Savior in such a close range, definitely put there on purpose by someone, was alarming. But for now the pagan was the closest threat so the bishop concentrated fully on him.

  
\- What do you want from me? You can kill me, you can torture me but you cannot break my spirit.

  
\- Who’s talking about killing? – came the amused voice that Heahmund knew.

  
And indeed, from behind the column Ivar crawled toward him, soundlessly as a snake from the lost Paradise. The madman stopped just before him, leaning in too close, violating his space, and smiled at him. He didn’t laugh like back then on the battlefield York’s streets had become but he looked crazy nonetheless. Maybe it was the smile. Maybe the wicked glint in his eyes.

  
\- If I wanted to kill you, I would order it already, don’t you think so, Christian? Or just let my people do their job in the battle earlier, instead of halting their swords from taking your life.

  
\- Then what do you intend?

  
\- I don’t know yet, - said Ivar, all carefree, looking at him in merriment, like a child wondering how to test his new toy. – We could talk. Or I could torture you. Or… - he looked around his shoulder.

  
Heahmund’s gaze followed his and fell upon the crucifix. The bishop felt his stomach clench as the heathen moved toward the devotional article and raised it unconcernedly, with this unnerving smile still playing around the corner of his lips.

  
The cripple run his fingers upon the exposed flesh of the Savior. Heahmund surged at him but the short chain pulled him backward and he fell down sorely, gritting his teeth at the pain that shot up from each wound on his battered body.

  
The heathen scoffed at him.

  
\- Christians. All I have to do is to disrespect the figure of your god which already has been hammered to the cross and you all react the same, - as he spoke, Ivar waved the crucifix in the air. He pointed the wood at Heahmund’s chest accusingly. – You are all too easily controlled.

  
Heahmund looked at him murderously, gathering strength for next attack, waiting until the boy will came into his reach. But Ivar stayed in his place, just beyond prisoner’s chained hands, scratching his chin with the cross’ arm. Then he smiled as his eyes lit up with some idea.

  
\- You. What would you do to prevent me from defiling your precious wooden artifact?

  
\- I don’t pact with heathens, - said Heahmund haughtily and immediately regretted it as the Jesus figure’s head snapped under the strong human hand. Ivar threw it at him. Heahmund watched, horrified, the tiny object bounce on his shoulder, then hit the floor and roll few inches away. He tried to swallow around the bile that suddenly rose in his throat.

  
\- Is that so? – mocked Ivar.

  
\- Leave that sacred thing out of your dirty hands, pagan!

  
The Viking laughed.

  
\- From the two of us, you are the one still dirtied with blood.

  
It was true, Heahmund could feel the caked layer of blood smeared onto his face. It was his enemies' mostly, maybe some came from a cut on his face as well. The Vikings had been all around him as he fought, it was a miracle none had managed to pierce him with a sword as the hands had reached for him from all the sides at once, tearing him down from his fallen horse and pressing him to the ground. A miracle or a heathen’s order barked in short decisive words, came the unbidden thought.

  
\- What is your name? – asked Ivar after a moment of silence.

  
When the captive hesitated, the Viking’s hand gripped the crucifix tighter.

  
\- Heahmund, - spat the bishop.

  
\- Heahmund, - repeated Ivar, accenting it weirdly, tasting the new word on his tongue. – I like you. I think I’ll keep you.

  
The bishop’s face grimaced in ager.

  
\- You cannot keep a human being.

  
\- Of course I can, - said Ivar, throwing the crucifix away, suddenly not interested in it anymore.

  
He shifted himself toward Heahmund, keeping his upper body up on one palm, with the other reaching toward the bound man.

  
\- I have many slaves.

  
Heahmund tried not to flinch from his touch as the cripple squeezed his shoulder. Ivar’s hand traveled down the prisoner’s arm, then came back up and shoved Heahmund in the chest unexpectedly, sending him onto his back. He tried to raise himself to the previous position but the heathen was upon him, pressing him down surprisingly strong. But of course he had firm arms, using them as both his hands and legs, pulling all his grown up body on them.

  
\- No, I won’t kill you, - whispered Ivar, leaning so close that Heahmund could feel his breath on the face as he spoke. – It would be a waste to kill such a warrior. Oh, you fought beautifully, - the heathen’s voice has gone dreamy, - like a berserk. Surrounded by your enemies, with a cry upon your lips and courage in your heart. So beautifully. And I watched, I appreciated. So much, in fact, every part of my body was impressed.

  
At this, the pagan rubbed his loins onto Heahmund’s body and the bishop could feel the tell telling swell pressing into his tight. He trashed wildly, trying to throw the other man off him. The heathen only giggled madly but stayed in place, almost laying onto him.

  
\- You fight even now, when it’s useless? You’re in my power now, - the heathen’s voice took on a disturbingly alluring tone. – Submit to me.

  
His last words were a mere whisper, a breath onto hot skin as he leaned even more, licking the blood from Heahmund’s face. The bishop twisted his head away, disgusted.

  
\- Never. I’ll never yield to a heathen.

  
He felt rather than heard the rumble of laugh from Ivar’s chest as the youth laid flush onto him now, his right hand sneaked down between their joined bodies, seeking the openings to foreign clothes.

  
\- Whatever you like. We can do it rough, if you prefer.

  
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Heahmund redoubled his efforts to break free. He buckled and twisted and kicked but the heavy irons on his hands limited his movements greatly and his whole body still hurt after recent fight. The madman upon him wasn’t put off in the slightest by his resistance. If anything, he seemed even more turned on, like the struggle was some kind of a foreplay for him.

  
Heahmund hissed as the heathen managed to push his pants down enough to expose his cock to the chilly air.

  
\- Shhh, - hushed Ivar.

  
The bishop brought his head up but Ivar managed to evade the supposed blow to his face. The Viking tsked at him, his fingers encircling Heahmund’s shaft. The bishop, furious, spat right into the heathen’s smug expression. This, at least, made the constant smirk disappear form the other’s face for a second and the hand slipped from his cock. The anger twisted his captor’s face and he looked like a petulant child suddenly. Heahmund wondered about his age fleetingly.

  
\- I wanted to play it nice for you, - gritted the Viking, swiping the spittle off his cheek. – But since you’re like that…

  
Before Heahmund had the time to process his meaning, Ivar’s hand sneaked between his legs and a finger probed at his entrance the next second. Heahmund tensed as he felt the finger breaching him.

  
Chains rattled as the bishop pulled his hands futilely, the restraints were unyielding. Iron bonds held his hands useless from protecting himself, the heathen’s body covered him from the middle of his chest all the way down. Ivar’s legs were a dead weight upon his own limbs and though the Viking couldn’t use them to hold him down more effectively, he didn’t also feel any of Heahmund’s kicks aimed at them.

  
The bishop gritted his teeth to not let any groan out as the finger pressed into him in the sodomitic forbidden way. Ivar’s head rested onto his breast, looking up at him in the same unhealthy fascination Heahmund sometimes caught on the other’s face during a battle. The crippled, cruel Viking always looked like that at someone’s suffering.

  
Heahmund tore his gaze off the crazed pair of blue eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Ribbed vault reminded him they were in the devastated church, soiled by pagan’s transgressions, but it was preferable to looking into the eyes of the devil upon him.

  
Heahmund bit back a grunt as the heathen forced second finger into him. He prayed silently for strength, for endurance, for help to the God but soon, unconsciously his lips started to recite a psalm, much to Ivar’s amusement.

  
\- "In you, Lord my God, I put my trust. I trust in you; do not let me be put to shame, nor let my enemies triumph over me."

  
\- Your enemies have already triumphed over you, - a heathen’s voice cut like a blade into his prayer. – When they dragged you from your horse and defeated you in battle. When I took your sword away from you.

  
Ivar pulled his fingers out suddenly and replaced them with his cock. This time Heahmund cried out. He bit his lip later to keep quiet as the pagan moved above him, forcing his way into the resisting flesh.

  
Sweat broke off on Heahmund’s forehead, his body trembled from pain and exertion. Stifled moans escaped him as the heathen violated his body, thrusting with his hips and upper body only, the legs hanging motionlessly.

  
The psalms’ fragments hovered in Heahmund’s head but he didn’t dare to open his lips to try and say anything aloud. Too easily it could be turned into a cry of anguish torn from him. So he laid there in silence, clenching his jaw, while the holy verses in his thoughts were scattered into pieces by the heathen’s cock slamming into him.

  
“The Lord is my strength and my shield,” repeated Heahmund in his mind over and over, desperately trying to block out any outer sensations, drown the physical pain into the faith’s strength, “my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. Repay them for their deeds and for their evil work; repay them for what their hands have done and bring back on them what they deserve.”

  
Finally his prayers were listened and the heathen finished. Heahmund shuddered with disgust as the pagan came inside him, tainting him with his seed. As he drew out and rolled off him, the bishop wasn’t sure if the wetness he felt was all semen or was it his blood as well. It wouldn’t be first time the heathens would make him bleed and not even the biggest or most serious injury, yet the shame was never as great as in this torment. Heahmund felt it strangle him. He longed for the moment he would break free from here, take his sword in hand and mete out the revenge.

  
He turned his head to stare at the pagan with all the fury and promise of vengeance he felt right now but the heathen wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was directed at the straight figure still standing near them. With a sick feeling, Heahmund realized Ivar’s brother must have been here all the time. He had forgotten the other boy as the insane one appeared.

 

* * *

  
\- Hvitserk, – his younger brother cooed as he tucked his trousers close, rolling the name on his tongue like only he could, with a note of ridicule always, as if he’d made a fun of him; as if he was the only one who could understand his private jokes and all the world was just his playground, – are you gonna just stand there, brother? Like a watchdog?

  
Amusement glinted in his eyes. Hvitserk bared his teeth at the hated comparison but before he managed to say something or walk out, Ivar continued:

  
\- Come here, you halfwit.

  
\- What? I thought I was here for protection-

  
Ivar made a face and Hvitserk could almost read his thoughts which should be somewhere along the lines of: Gods in Valhalla give me patience to all the cretins of my brothers surrounding me.

  
\- Like you thought I needed protection, - sneered Ivar, and, looking at the Christian’s exhausted body at his side, Hvitserk had to agree with him. - You think that only as it suits you, - babbled Ivar, with the reproach in his voice. - You don’t like my private guard but you feel entitled to protect me yourself from a chained prisoner. Don’t insult me, come here have some fun instead.

  
The bishop laid still secured to the column with a tick chain, sprawled open, tights covered with Ivar’s seed and his own blood. He panted hard through his nose and Hvitserk couldn’t decide if there was more pain or wrath in the sound, in his whole attitude, in the way he pierced Ivar with a vicious look. He apparently lacked strength to do anything more for now.

  
Ivar spoke in their mother tongue and Hvitserk didn’t think the Christian understood much. But the man must have realized what was about to happen as Hvitserk stepped forward, already starting to smile and fumbling with the laces of his pants, for he called hoarsely:

  
\- No, - his voice croaked like a sound of rusty metal. – Don’t come near me. Stay away, you heathen.

  
Hvitserk ignored him and the threat sounding in his voice. The Christian was in no position to make any demands. But as soon as Hvitserk leaned down, he was kicked viciously straight into the solar plexus. He bent over, gulping in the air, blinking the tears away.

  
As he straightened, he saw his younger brother, laying just next to the Christian, holding a crucifix once again in his hand, outstretched so that the Christian could see clearly but not reach. Ivar was speaking something that the other man found deeply disgusting, judging by his expression.

  
\- … or I’ll fuck you with this. It’s all your choice. – Ivar looked up at him and raised a brow. – Well? Go on, brother.

  
Hvitserk knelt down, this time grabbing the Christians legs in advance. He forced them open, receiving surprisingly little resistance from their prisoner. Not wasting any time, he wedged his own cock into the welcoming heat, groaning at the sensation and hearing a soft responding grunt from beneath him.

  
Hvitserk had been hard for some time watching the scene playing before his eyes, listening to them, smelling the sex scent in the air.

  
He raised the captive’s hips up higher, pulling them to himself in time with his thrusts. The Christian shook under his hold, biting his lips hard till it bled. Hvitserk would prefer him screaming but the halfhearted attempts to wrench free off his grip weren’t bad also, as they provided an extra stimulation.

  
Hvitserk was vaguely aware of his brother’s eyes upon him but it was clouded by the carnal sensations.

  
He came with a strangled cry and retreated as soon as he came to himself but that turned out to be unnecessary as the Christian laid rather calmly now. He seemed too wrench out to gather all his previous rage against them.

  
Hvitserk’s eyes met Ivar’s above the ravaged bishop’s body and both brothers smiled instinctively.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The psalms are cited from David, 25 and 28.


End file.
